


Your Eyes Lightning, Your Speech Thunder

by icandrawamoth



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Astraphobia, Fluff, M/M, Storms, Thunderstorms, inference of past child abuse, that title is way too lovely and pretentious for this little thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-08
Updated: 2015-06-08
Packaged: 2018-04-03 10:51:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4098250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icandrawamoth/pseuds/icandrawamoth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras wakes in the middle of the night to find Grantaire watching a storm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Your Eyes Lightning, Your Speech Thunder

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes you've challenged yourself to write every day for a month, and it's ten to midnight and you haven't written yet today, and it's storming, and a ficlet just happens.

A particularly loud crack of thunder snaps Enjolras awake, and the first thing he notices is that the other side of the bed is empty. He listens for a few moments, assuming Grantaire has just gone to the bathroom or to get a drink of water as he sometimes does, but he hears nothing but more thunder, bright flashes of lightning searing his eyes in the dark.

Growing more concerned, he levers himself up from bed and steps into the dark hallway, calling his boyfriend's name softly. 

"In here," Grantaire's voice answers from the living room, and Enjolras follows it. More lightning reveals the other man's form huddled in Enjolras's favorite armchair, cocooned in a mass of blankets. The peak of thunder that follows makes him shiver.

"Are you all right?" Enjolras asks him. "I woke up and you weren't there."

Grantaire shrugs, and his eyes are wide in the white-blue light from the storm. "It woke me up awhile ago, and I couldn't get back to sleep. I didn't want to bother you." Enjolras knows of this phobia, an anxiety about loud noises that goes back to a childhood and family where such things always meant trouble.

"You shouldn't have worried about me." Enjolras approaches, gestures slightly, and Grantaire lifts the blankets for him, sliding over. If they sit nearly on top of one aother, they can both fit in the chair; neither mind the closeness.

Grantaire doesn't respond to his statement but leans against him, warm under the covers. More thunder, and he turns his face against Enjolras's shoulder. "Sometimes, I think of it like you," he says, muffled by the contact. "They way your eyes spark when you're angry and your voice raises when you're really passionate about something. Like you're a part of nature." A long pause. "It helps a little."

Enjolras kisses his hair, arms wrapping around him. "You're as much a poet as Jehan when you want to be."

Grantaire makes a soft, disparaging sound. He barely moves at the next crack of thunder, heavy against Enjolras's side. 

"Let's go back to bed, hmm?" Enjolras murmurs.


End file.
